‘The police aren’t allowing any visits or phone calls yet.’ She paused again and then, curiosity triumphing over discipline, decided to let her hair down the rest of the way. ‘What on earth has he been up to?’ she asked.
‘His girlfriend’s husband caught up with him,’ I said. Sometimes my tongue runs away with me.
‘Then why are the police so interested in him?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘He’s the head of the Mafia in Auchtermuchty,’ I told her. She rang off indignantly.
‘You’d better make any further calls,’ I told Beth.
She nodded, frowning in reproof. ‘All men are liars,’ she said, ‘but sometimes you take the cake.’
I was fairly sure that the police had no business holding Noel incommunicado without bringing any charge against him, but I decided that to rush in and invoke an army of lawyers might provoke exactly the reaction that Noel least wanted.
*
Masterly inactivity proved to be the correct choice.
Mike Coutts had returned to the newspaper office in Glasgow. He continued to prove himself as good as his word. In view of the various legal actions pending, his preliminary articles could only hint at the various acts of violence committed in pursuit of Noel and his microfiche; but he went to town on the subject of the rabies vaccine and Hector Tholess’s part in that unsavoury story. And he was free to recount the theft and destruction of my car with the release of Jove, so that his readership was left in no doubt that we had been taken unawares by the theft and had recovered the dog with little aid from the authorities. The likelihood of public sympathy undoubtedly tempered the attitudes of the authorities in their dealings with us.
On the Sunday, the day after our abortive chat with the ward sister, Mike returned in the hope of further news and for a social visit to Jove with whom he had struck up a rapport. Mike had also tracked Noel as far as Ninewells and, like us, had so far failed to make any closer contact.
We had made one further attempt to reach Noel by phone, only to find that the ward telephone trolley was in such regular use by patients summoning their transport home that there were heavy odds against it being free at the moment of any given incoming call. Beth had left our phone number with a message inviting Noel to phone us. Remembering what I had told her of Noel’s state when hospitalized, she guessed that he might not have any money with him and added that he could call us and reverse the charges. The ward sister, if that was she, retorted huffily that they had a telephone fund in aid of impoverished patients, to which we might care to contribute.
Either the message or the telephone trolley may have been slow to reach Noel, by which time I was busily engaged on the lawn, with Mike an interested conscript to help me. One of the pups just entering serious training had got it firmly into his head that any version of the Stop-and-sit command really meant Come-back-here-and-sit. (This can be one of the trickiest faults to cure, because the very last thing to be taught is Don’t-come-back.) Mike was handling the check-lead while I laboured with voice and whistle and hand signals and telepathic commands of increasing intensity, when the cordless phone in my pocket began its ramped signal.
I switched the phone from ‘Receive’ to ‘Talk’ and said ‘Hello.’
‘Can you be overheard?’ Noel’s voice asked.
Not only could I have been overheard by anyone near the house or in the road beyond the garden wall, but cordless phones are seriously insecure – as certain noble personages have found to their cost. ‘Hold on,’ I said. I called to Hannah to take over the pup and we went indoors. I picked up the kitchen phone, making sure that the cordless instrument – which would otherwise have been broadcasting our conversation to anyone interested enough and equipped to listen in – was switched off before speaking again.
‘Secure at this end,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
‘Should be all right. I’m in a side ward, courtesy of BUPA. Did you phone up yesterday?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know you were my brother. Dad certainly got around.’
‘They never disclose medical information except to close relatives,’ I explained. ‘We wanted to know how you were. So how are you? You sound a great deal perkier than I expected.’
‘I still feel as though I’ve been trampled by elephants, but they aren’t quite such oversize elephants as they were yesterday. By tomorrow, they may be down to mere elephant size.’ Noel’s voice lost its bantering note and became serious. ‘Listen, will you do me a favour? I know you’ve already done me a bigger one than I can repay. I’m told that you rescued me when otherwise I would probably have been knocked off or left to die in that chest. I won’t even try to thank you; these things are beyond words. But I need a little more help and I can’t think of anyone else I can trust.’
‘You don’t have to go on about it,’ I said. ‘You only have to ask.’
Although he had said that he was alone, he lowered his voice. ‘I want something fetched from the Bothy.’
I tried to keep every trace of amusement out of my voice. ‘If it’s what I think it is, I have it here.’
‘And if that’s what I think it is,’ he said gruffly, ‘I’ll be very glad to have it; but that’s not my prior concern at the moment. Can you go to the Bothy for me and collect every scrap of paper that’s been left behind? That bloody Tirrell admits that they didn’t bother too much about gathering it all up and he says his men are too busy to run errands for me, but he says they’ve finished with the Bothy now and he’ll release the keys to you for the purpose of collecting my property only, which includes certain scraps of paper.’
‘Are you looking for any particular piece of paper?’ I asked him. ‘Or just starting a do-it-yourself salvage operation?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it on the phone,’ Noel said. ‘Just every scrap of paper. And I’ll have to ring off now. Rounds have just finished and another dozen lucky buggers are busting to phone for their lifts home. They’re gathering outside the door and glaring in at me. Thanks. You’ve taken a weight off my mind. I’ll look for you later today.’ And either he hung up without waiting for any more assurances or somebody pulled out the plug.
While I was on the phone, Isobel and Daffy between them had put a hot snack on the kitchen table. Henry drove over in time to share it with us. While we ate – all eight of us, including Sam who was as usual on Beth’s knee and greedily accepting something special – I gave the others a summary of my talk with Noel.
Beth must have recognized irritation in my voice. ‘And you hate wasted journeys,’ she said sympathetically.
‘I hate wasted anything,’ I said. ‘That’s probably why I didn’t go higher than captain in the army – I was always up in arms about the logistical wastefulness of it all. There was a total comprehension gap. I couldn’t see why my superiors didn’t plan things out properly in advance instead of sending everybody and everything all over the world and back to where they came from; but those superiors looked on that as being my blind spot rather than theirs.’
My partners and the staff always humoured my little foibles. ‘Let’s see if we can help,’ Daffy said. ‘The Bothy’s west of here, Mr Cochrane’s in Ninewells which is generally north, but the key has to be fetched from Cupar, which is to the south.’
‘One moment,’ Beth said. She handed Sam to Hannah and took the cordless phone out into the hall.
‘I can save you one trip,’ Daffy said. ‘The owner of that daft setter phoned. She’s back at home, but only because her car was wrecked and she’s got a busted ankle. She says it was entirely that other driver’s fault but I’d like to hear his side of it. She offered the equivalent of the taxi fare if we’d deliver her darling Rufus to her. I said I’d ask you and call her back this afternoon. She lives just beyond Ardunie. I could take your car, broken window and all, deliver the dog and visit the Bothy on the same journey.’
‘If it’s any help,’ Mike Coutts said, ‘I want to see Noel Cochrane. I could take you over.�
��
‘And I could fetch all the toffee papers and used tissues to you at Ninewells,’ Daffy said helpfully, ‘and bring you home again.’
Beth came back into the room and reclaimed Sam. ‘Inspector Tirrell has a car coming to the village. He’s sending the keys of the Bothy to the local cop-shop. One of us can collect it from there.’
‘And if you like,’ Daffy said, ‘I could take the papers direct to Mr Cochrane and save you going anywhere at all. You could stay here and get on with things.’
But I refused the offer. I had something for Noel and he would never have forgiven me for delegating that particular delivery, especially to Daffy.
‘It seems to work out very neatly,’ Henry said. ‘Give my regards to Noel Cochrane. I would come with you, except that I’m expecting a phone call from my nephew in the States. Just in case of hiccups, you’d better borrow this.’ He handed his mobile phone to Daffy. ‘You and Mr Coutts should exchange mobile numbers. These complicated arrangements have a habit of breaking down.’
‘So have the simple ones,’ I said. ‘But I think the time of emergencies is over for now.’
Chapter Ten
Mike Coutts’s big car bore all the signs of being a hard-worked tool of the trade to a man whose trade necessitated getting from A to B frequently and in a hurry. The interior was untidy and as scuffed as the outside. From the registration letter it could not have been more than eighteen months old at the most, but when I looked at the dash I saw that it had already racked up a mileage which, straightened out, would have taken him around the world. But it was quiet and comfortable and, as we crossed the Tay Estuary by the toll bridge and wafted up the Riverside to the low concrete mass of Ninewells Hospital, I enjoyed the luxury of being driven for a change and being free to admire the changing views of water and hills.
After several enquiries and more than a little walking, we found Noel’s sideward. I left Mike Coutts out of sight and earshot while I went in, explaining that I wanted a word in private with Noel. Mike probably thought that I was priming Noel with what to tell him.
Noel was reclining against pillows. He had changed colours as his bruises worked their way along the spectrum, but he was evidently on the mend. He wore hospital pyjamas and a woollen hat borrowed from some Dundee United supporter.
‘This is instead of fruit,’ I said, handing over a small carrier bag.
He leaned up on his elbow and peered inside. The bag contained his toupee, which I had rescued from the Bothy, together with his sticky tape, a small pair of scissors and a comb.
‘Thanks,’ Noel said huskily. ‘You’re a pal. I don’t really go much of a bundle on fruit. What about the other thing?’
‘Daffy’s gathering up the bits of paper now,’ I told him. ‘She’ll bring it over to us when she’s got it all. If you wouldn’t mind a visit from Mike Coutts, I’ll go and fetch him. It will take me several minutes.’
Noel understood precisely. ‘I want to see him very much . . . in a few minutes’ time.’
I rejoined Mike Coutts and explained that we would have to wait because Noel was getting a blanket bath. We chatted about nothing for a while. Then two nurses came past. Nurses are sometimes homely, but these two were young, blonde, leggy and at that perfect stage of womanhood when the bloom of youth overlaps the knowledge of sexual magnetism. They were smiling at some shared joke.
‘Ah! He’ll be ready for us now,’ I said.
Mike seemed thoughtful as he followed me to the sideward. I hoped that the upward leap of Noel’s image might be reflected in print. I took a quick look round the door to be sure that Noel was ready. The woollen hat was out of sight and Noel was once again crowned with his mop of curly brown hair. Despite the bruises, he could hardly have been recognized as the man in the wooden chest. ‘Mike!’ he said. ‘I’ve been wanting to see you.’
The two shook hands. ‘And here I am. How are you?’
‘Mending. That bastard worked me over more than once. Do you have the story?’
‘Most of it. I’d like to hear your version of it, but you needn’t compromise your integrity by talking to the press unless you want to clarify a few motives.’ Noel hesitated but Mike rolled on. ‘You can correct me if I go off the rails. Your employers were deep into rabies vaccines at prices even the Third World, where most of the world’s rabies is still endemic, could afford. During your time in India, you discovered that, for some reason we needn’t go into now, the products were less effective than the firm was claiming, to the point that fresh outbreaks could occur and people who thought that they were protected might be in great danger. You must have been horrified.’
‘More than horrified,’ Noel said. His eyes looked old and tired and I could see again a trace of the man in the wooden chest. ‘I can’t think of a strong enough word. You see, I’d had a hand in developing the new vaccine. I felt responsible for all the death and disease that might follow.’
Mike nodded and went on. ‘When you returned to Britain, you found that your reports had been noted and believed but that the firm had no intention of doing anything about it while the money-tree was still fruiting.’
‘It was bad,’ said Noel, ‘but not as bad as you make it sound. Partly, I’d like to think wholly, the reasoning was that to withdraw the vaccine before the replacement was ready would be an admission of liability. Off the record . . .?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Off the record, what really stuck in my gullet was that Heatherington and the chief finance officer had done a discounted cash flow of forecast profits against probable costs in lawsuits and compensation. That’s what really made me act.’
‘And you acted to some effect,’ Mike said. ‘You raided the computer and other files and made off with a microfiche of some very damaging documents. True so far?’
‘No comment,’ Noel said.
‘Which means yes.’ Mike looked at Noel with sympathy and, I thought, even pity. ‘Get wise,’ he said. ‘From the moment of your . . . defection, you were being hunted by colleagues and others who were quite prepared to step outside the law. Stolen cars were the least of it. The shit is now in process of hitting the fan and any of your pursuers who want to lessen its effect are going to swear blind that you were trying to blackmail the firm. Showing you in a bad light can only make them look better by contrast and, if they get brought to court, give their advocates a forceful argument in mitigation.’
‘Believe me, I’m aware of that,’ Noel said grimly.
‘Are you also aware that a fax has been produced, ostensibly from yourself, demanding a large sum of money for the return of those documents instead of their delivery into my hands?’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ Noel said. ‘It’s a fake.’
‘But can you prove it? And can you prove what the others were after?’
Noel shrugged. ‘It seems that I’m going to have to play as dirty as the rest. You’ll give me a fair break?’
‘Guaranteed.’
‘Not attributable to me?’
‘It will have less effect,’ Mike said.
‘All the same. When the dust settles, I may still have a place in the firm. I know that some of the board members were on my side.’
‘All right, then,’ said Mike.
‘But knowing and proving may be streets apart. Beginning with Uncle Joe—’
‘Who?’ Mike demanded. ‘Your uncle . . .?’
Noel shook his head violently and then blinked as the movement sent aches through his injuries. ‘Old Man Heatherington. He’s known as Uncle Joe after Joe Stalin, because if you disagree with him you’re not likely to be seen around head office for much longer. The snag to that way of working is that when things go wrong the autocrat has to carry the whole can.’
‘I can see that he’d be desperate to cover up,’ Mike said. ‘But his secretary, Miss Otterburn alias Johnson. Is she so loyal?’
‘She hates his guts. She’s a very hard nut. If she has a soft spot . . .’
‘Donald Agg
leton?’ I said.
Noel looked surprised. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘She suggested it herself. Was it another lie?’
‘You remember Donald?’ Noel asked Mike.
‘He met us for drinks some evenings,’ Mike said. ‘Your assistant, wasn’t he?’
‘He had a thing going with Kate Otterburn for years. They had ideas above their incomes. They took on a mortgage to buy a mansion of a house in Bellshill and then struggled to find the money to get the dry rot and woodworm out of it. They were full of mad schemes to raise money. Donald knew what was going on with the rabies vaccine and my views about it. If they saw a chance to cash in, they’d leap at it. But they broke up about a year ago and she ended up in possession of the house. She’d still be hungry for money to restore it. And she left him broke.’
‘And Harriet Williams?’
Noel’s face changed. ‘Yes. Poor Harriet. I think that in her heart of hearts Harriet agreed with the stand I was taking. But she was an ardent feminist and a victim of driving ambition.’
‘A dangerous combination,’ Mike said.
‘It can be. It was, with Harriet. She wanted to prove to the world that a woman’s as good as a man or better. Which may be perfectly true,’ said Noel thoughtfully. ‘I wouldn’t know. It seems to me that nature played some dirty tricks on women and just as many different ones on men. But Harriet seemed to think that the fact that Mother Nature – traditionally a female figure, note – decreed that women need not be physically as strong as men, but could instead look to men for support and protection, was a deliberate and malicious act on the part of the male sex. One hint that recovering those documents might lead to promotion into my job and she’d have been off and running!’
Mike was not taking notes. I wondered whether he was wired for sound, trusting to a first-class memory or only gathering background material. From the effort showing around his eyes, I guessed that he was memorizing. ‘That leaves Jake Spurway,’ he said. ‘Mr Heatherington’s personal hard man and fixer. According to Miss Otterburn-Johnson, he’d turned his coat and gone into business for himself, which is why Mr Heatherington set a pair of rather ineffective toughs on the trail. She claimed that she was still providing the romance in Donald Aggleton’s life and she wanted the warning message passed to him. That right, John?’
Mad Dogs and Scotsmen (Three Oaks Book 7) Page 17